


teacups

by andorgyny



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andorgyny/pseuds/andorgyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set a couple years after ktm but written before motoe aired. clara is not actively traveling with twelve in this fic, but he still visits her because they’ve made up and he loves her. also clara has a dog (because of the pictures of jenna with a puppy on set omg).</p>
            </blockquote>





	teacups

She is nearing thirty. A whisper of discontent settles in her chest, a longing for days gone by or something fanciful like that. Granted she has a year or so (one doesn’t really know when one is a former time traveler) but still. She gazes at her reflection in the mirror, notices tiny lines near her eyes.

The song of the universe interrupts her thoughts. Well, that and Lucy’s high pitched yaps. Despite herself, that same old warmth nestles itself inside of her, that giddiness of youth and hope. She stands, wraps herself in her fuzzy red robe and walks into the living room. The TARDIS door is open.

As a rule, she doesn’t go in anymore. There’s a line that’s not been crossed since the moon and her cutting words and little things like innocence dying. Her smile fades when she sees him on her couch, head in his hands.

"Doctor?"

He looks up, sighing. “There’s a mouse in the TARDIS.”

Clara frowns, glancing at the open door. “So you’ve decided to let it out in my flat.”

"You like pets."

"When they’re not from Mars," she says, shutting the TARDIS door. "Aren’t there space exterminators?"

The Doctor snorts. “Yes, but I wouldn’t want one of them in my ship.”

"Doctor, don’t you think it would be bad if a space mouse decided to make 21st century London its home? Wouldn’t that cause a paradox or something if it had babies?"

"I have no idea," he says. "Perhaps there’s always been an invasion of the space mice in 21st century London."

"Well, I can’t take care of a mouse."

"You have a dog.”

Clara rolls her eyes as she walks into her kitchen. “Yeah, and she’s a bloody nightmare.” She stops and looks at the floor. “Is that a mouse trap?”

"Completely humane. It won’t starve the damn thing, at least."

She crouches down by the contraption. “Yeah, it’s got a little feeder in it.”

She stands and fills a kettle with water. There is quiet as she lets the water boil. Pulling two cups out of the cupboard, she hums to herself a catchy tune she’s heard a few times on the radio. She readies the milk and the tea bags as the kettle whistles along with her. 

She knows how he takes his tea, even if he prefers coffee. A dash of milk and definitely no sugar, a teaspoon of honey instead. He doesn’t like sweets this time around, but for her, he makes an exception, she thinks. He makes a lot of exceptions.

"How is Randy?" the Doctor asks as she walks back into the living room, mugs steaming in her hands. Rolling her eyes, she sets his mug in front of him on the coffee table.

"Danny. He’s fine."

"Where is he tonight, anyway? It’s Saturday."

"At the pub with mates." She sips her tea. "Don’t read into it, Doctor. Sometimes couples need time apart. And anyway, I’ve got papers to grade."

"What about?" He picks up his mug and sniffs it cautiously.

"Hamlet."

He tastes his tea and grimaces. “Bit sweet, Clara.” 

"Well, make your own next time!"

"I met him."

She blinks. “Hamlet? He’s not real,” she adds, frowning thoughtfully. “Although, Robin Hood.”

"The Bard himself. Back with Martha—Martha Jones, might have mentioned her. He fancied her. Made her his Dark Lady and everything."

She raises a brow. “That’s awfully flattering. Must have been gorgeous, this Martha Jones.” The Doctor shrugs, which almost certainly means yes, at least in his unique body language. “What was she like?”

He throws her a look. “Don’t you want to hear about Shakespeare?”

"Not really into balding guys." The Doctor absently runs a hand through his hair.

"She was brilliant. Training to be a doctor, when I met her on the… well. On the moon." He says, firmly looking into his tea. She watches him carefully but says nothing. "Do you remember when the Royal Hope ended up missing back in 2007?"

"Yeah. The papers said it was a hoax, though."

He lets out a rare chuckle. “They do that.”

Her eyes widen. “You were there. Which you?”

"That was my tenth body. You’ve met him."

The sexy one, Clara thinks with a grin. Lucky Martha. “And Martha was at the hospital?”

"Yes." The Doctor frowns. "I was… not in a great place then. And Martha, she was very understanding. Even if she shouldn’t have been." She wants to probe further, but he stands. He so rarely gives away pieces of himself, so she holds on to what he’s said and cherishes his words like diamonds. 

Still, something in his words bothers her. “There’s nothing wrong with being understanding.”

He walks to the window. “When it’s against your own best interest, when it ruins your life, there is.”

The warning is clear. I will ruin your life.

She wants to weep or rage at him, but instead she smiles, wraps up her heartbreak like porcelain. ”So. You’re here, we’re gonna catch a mouse. What’s in it for me?”

He pulls a red pen out of his pocket and nods at the stack of essays on the coffee table. “That’s a lot of papers to grade.”

//////

In the end, it happens over teacups with kittens on the sides. It turns out that essays are far more interesting when tea is replaced with gin. Lucy is curled up on the floor by the TARDIS, snoozing lightly. Clara thinks she’s quite taken with the ship. 

She’s laughing at something a student wrote, eyes watering as she wipes them with her shaking fingers. It’s not right to laugh at students, but everything’s a bit wrong after a few drinks. 

The Doctor, however, is watching her with a steady gaze, something hot in his cool blue eyes that makes her want to get sweaty or at least take off her shirt. He’s beautiful on a bad day, but right now he’s gorgeous, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. All that clothing, all armor to protect the man inside, but she wants to see it stripped away. She always has.

"Come away with me," he says eventually. 

She stops laughing, smile fading. “Doctor, I told you. I’m not traveling with you anymore.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mean just picking you up on Wednesdays.” He pulls a key out of his pocket. “Stay with me this time.”

"Can’t you find someone else to harass?" she jests, her heart beating wildly. Temptation soars within her.

He smiles ruefully. “I don’t want to.”

She watches him as he takes the key and presses it into her hand. Folds her fingers around it. It’s the most intimate way he’s ever touched her. “I have a life here, a job, a boyfriend, a dog—”

"Lucy can come with us. Help us find the mouse. Donald will be fine."

"It’s Danny, for God’s sake!" Clara pulls away. "If you’re gonna do this, take me away and never bring me back, you need to know who I’m leaving behind! A family, a man I… care about very much."

"You used to say you loved him."

"I-I do, I just—" 

"Just what?" His voice is thin and icy.

"I was trying to hurt you! That’s why I said it. But it’s not fair," she adds. He stands, puts the key back in his pocket. "You wait until I’ve had a few drinks to ask me these things. And when I don’t immediately throw myself into your spaceship, you don’t even bother listening to me! This is why I’ll never go away with you again. Because you’re just too damn self-centered. You say I’m full of myself, but at least I can listen to other people when they’re talking to me! You don’t even try to remember my boyfriend’s name!" 

Clara breathes in deeply. He’s staring at the TARDIS, still as she’s ever seen him. Fight or flight, she wonders. 

"You know all of these things about me—where I live, where I was born, who I’m seeing, what I do for a living—but I know even more about you. Not because you’ve told me (God knows you never say more than you have to) but because I listen. I hear what you say and what you mean when you say it." She stands, walks up to his side and studies his profile. He’s so beautiful, and she thinks he doesn’t know it anymore.

She wonders if he ever has. “I know that when you say you’re okay, you’re hurting but you don’t want to talk about it. I know that when you talk about River Song, you’re feeling guilty. And… I know that when you say you want me to come away with you, you’re saying all the things you think you can’t say to me.”

Clara reaches for his hand. “But I know why you don’t listen.”

"Why is that?" he says, barely a whisper.

She smiles. “Because you think you know what I’m gonna say. And often, you really don’t. Not that clever.”

He turns to look at her, something like awe writ in his skin. “I’m being pigheaded, aren’t I.”

"Little bit," she says. He squeezes her fingers in his. "But this is why you need someone. Someone to tell you when you’re wrong. When you need to listen." She pulls away and looks into the TARDIS. "How long have you been on your own?"

"Long enough."

She sighs. “I’m not ready.”

"Fine, it’s fine, I’ll go—"

"Listen! I said I’m not ready. I didn’t say I’ll never be ready." She looks at up him as she picks up the mugs. "Ask me tomorrow." 

"Why?"

"Don’t you ever listen?" She rolls her eyes and heads off to the kitchen. "Because I might be ready."


End file.
